


Golden Cord

by retsukoi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, Drinking At Some Point, F/M, Fluff, University AU, bokuto just wants a friend plsss, classmates au, cursing, fem reader - Freeform, no beta we die like men, super lighthearted stuff, with akaashi cameos!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retsukoi/pseuds/retsukoi
Summary: Coming into college, all you ever wanted was peace—a break from the ropes that tied you to high school, an opportunity to start a new identity. But it was something in Bokuto Koutarou's golden eyes and calloused hands that kept drawing you in, and your resolve always wavers.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Bokuto Koutarou/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	1. then i met you

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u enjoyed my 3am caffeine-driven writing <3 this is definitely not me trying to escape my pending backlogs <3
> 
> also i have already finished outlining the rest of the chapters so i hope i get to finish this hehe :D

It was too early—too damn early for you to be already seeing a familiar face.

In hopes to leave your past in Fukurodani Academy to start anew, you had chosen a college that you were so sure that almost no one from your high school would enroll in. At least that was what your homeroom adviser had told you before you eagerly submitted your application form.

No one had warned you that Bokuto Koutarou would be sitting at the back of the lecture hall, sticking out like a sore thumb in all of his muscular build and six-foot-something glory. He looked the same way he did since you last saw him during your graduation, you were dozing in your seat while he got awarded for his multitude of achievements in volleyball.

Cheek slumped against the palm of his hand, his golden eyes flickered to yours in heed of your arrival. You averted his gaze, praying to whatever god was listening that he was just a trick of the light; an impostor with the same stupid-looking black streaks and chiseled features that came to haunt your first day.

Even if he was who you thought he was, you knew it wasn’t like he would actually recognize you in return. Bokuto was leagues ahead of you when it came to social standing, he was the ace and the captain of the highly-esteemed volleyball club while you were part of a club much different from his, both of which never crossed paths in your three years of high school.

Heaving a breath of relief, you straightened your posture as you walked up the carpeted stairs that led you to the remaining vacancies. You opted for a desk not too far away from Bokuto’s, a few rows ahead of him so you wouldn’t be inclined to stare at his spiky hairstyle for the next three hours.

You carefully placed your bag underneath the table, taking out your heavily-stickered laptop to set up your station before the professor comes. You were too engrossed in your organizing that you failed to notice someone shuffling from behind you, reaching for the empty chair beside yours.

A finger came into your line of view, pointing directly to the owl sticker that you had stuck onto your laptop. Your brows knitted together in confusion as they spoke, “Isn’t this what the principal gave us during our last field day? The consolation prize for the third years?”

You glanced at your side, blinking at Bokuto’s grin. He sat beside you, his body turned directly to face your direction and completely oblivious to your discomfort. Nodding slowly, you discreetly tugged your laptop closer to your chest before he could pinpoint another Fukurodani-related sticker and further expose your identity.

“Uh, yeah?” You mumbled, but it came out more as a question in your bewilderment.

Nothing in your wildest dreams would ever foretell you that you would be conversing with your high school’s beloved Bokuto nor would he even be sitting next to you.

He laughed, his grin coming undone to merely a small smile—the warmth he emanated lingered, contrasting your reluctance and rigidness in his presence. His confidence, you didn’t question, but you wondered where exactly was he getting his energy from that early in the morning when you could barely keep your eyes from drooping.

“I knew you looked familiar, I always see you in the hallways back in Fukurodani!” Bokuto exclaimed, you flinched at the shrill of his volume. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou from Class One!”

Silently accepting your defeat, you sighed and introduced yourself to the overly enthusiastic athlete who cozied in his seat, making a home on the desk beside yours. You made a mental note to change seats the next time you come to class, preferably away from him.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t like Bokuto, far from it actually; he was friendly and kind, a tad bit too energetic for you to keep up with, but he was alright. It was just that you didn’t exactly sign up to be chatting it up with a guy that reminded you too much of your high school, a part of your life that you were trying to escape and get over with.

You were curt and direct with your answers to his seemingly never-ending questions of who you are and what you did in high school. You were clearly insinuating that you had no intention of becoming chummy with him just because he recognized you. Even when your professor had already stepped foot into the room, his voice pierced your eardrum more than the balding man at the front could ever do even with his microphone.

“Bokuto-san, where’s Sarukui-san?” You asked in an impassive tone, and he stared at you owlishly at your mention of his old teammate.

Unlike with Bokuto, you were acquainted with Sarukui Yamato quite well. He was in the same class as you and often would you be in the same group for class activities. You knew he was part of the volleyball club, always coming into the classroom drenched in sweat as he went on about how gruesome his morning training was.

It was a tight circle, you figured, how lovingly he always spoke of the team so you’ve always thought they would stay together after graduation—at least the third years would.

“He got a job somewhere in Shibuya.” Bokuto coughed after a while, scratching the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I’m the only third year who decided to go to college, I think.”

With your lips gaping ever-so-slightly, you were left unsure whether you were supposed to feel guilty for bringing up what seemed to be a sensitive topic.

‘ _Is this why he’s latching onto me?_ ’ You couldn’t help but think with a small scowl.

You reached over to pat his shoulder, tough and broad you noticed. You opened your mouth in an attempt to console him, but immediately regretted it soon after, “Let’s get that degree, yeah?”

He mustered up the widest grin, bobbing his head animatedly with his thumb jutted in the air—taking what you’ve said a little bit too seriously, making you chuckle at his ridiculousness.

“I think we’ll be great friends!” Bokuto shoved his hand out to you, his eyes almost glistening in anticipation of you to grab his hand. You tentatively took it, his rough skin grazing your palm. “If it’s alright with you?”

“Yup, sure…” You trailed with a bite to your lip, it wasn’t as if he was leaving you with any other choices but to. You watched him shake your hand, wary over how tightly he gripped it and how easily he could dislocate your arm if you uttered the wrong answer.

The deafening sound of microphone static shot through the auditorium, halting Bokuto from prolonging the conversation you desperately wished would just end. Your professor apologized for the interruption and proceeded with the lecture.

For your sanity’s sake, you motioned for Bokuto to listen in on the class which you weren’t quite sure he was even trying to in the first place. He got the message, fortunately, and let you be.

Your idle typing against your keyboard drowned with whatever white noise was playing in his head, lulling him to plant his head against the table in a snooze. His lips were parted and he had his body turned to you, you felt an odd need to cover his face with your handkerchief or else you would’ve felt too flustered to actually focus in on class.

Your professor dismissed the class shortly after discussing the syllabus for the semester, and you gathered your things as hastily as you could. You contemplated waking Bokuto from his slumber, but you couldn’t risk him knowing where your next class would be so you disregarded the thought sooner as it came.

Before you could run out of the lecture hall, you didn’t forget to scrawl out a message on a notepad and stuck it onto Bokuto’s forehead. You weren’t that rude to just dip on the poor guy.

_i hope you had a nice sleep, see you next time! - [name] ^^_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's nothing deep abt why the reader wants to forget high school lmao i think it's normal. i mean i was the same when i started college hadhsdks high school me does NOT exist in my head!


	2. past to present

Bokuto had a certain charm to him that was hard to dismiss, a charming aura he radiated that naturally drew people to him; a warmth that penetrated others so deeply that it made it easy to overlook his corny jokes and intolerably high energy.

It wasn’t a surprise to you that even after only a month into the semester has he already managed to fool almost the entirety of your class into becoming his friend.  _ That damned charm of his _ , you always cursed underneath your breath whenever you’d spot him swarmed with strangers, somehow keeping up with the multiple conversations all happening at once.

But he looked genuinely happy and in his element. You soon realized that Bokuto was the kind of guy that people would feel the need to root for, to be close with; something you eventually fell into the trap of.

Before you had no doubts that Bokuto had an inkling that you weren’t as fond of him as he was to you. There were occasions that your patience would slip, some replies that would be a bit too rude, but never would he make you feel bad about it. He would nod his head, listen to what you had to say, and let you zone back into the lecture while he would doze off to the side. Not once would he fail to flail his arms wildly at your arrival every morning, patting the table next to his where he would purposely place his backpack to save you a seat from the other students.

Always with a stupid grin on his face, eyes shining brightly that it almost made you feel guilty that you once tried to shove him away.

When Bokuto had said that he thought you would be great friends, you definitely could see the effort he was putting in it to make it true and your lack thereof. You soon made up for it, absolutely helpless in his grasp.

“Here you go,” Bokuto whistled too cheerily for the morning, sliding into his chair with a thick stack of paper in his hands. “I already had it organized and stapled according to the modules this week.”

You smiled politely, taking your handouts that he had printed out with his own and placed it on your desk. Rummaging through your pencil case, you pulled out your yellow highlighter pen and wordlessly handed it to him; you knew him enough to know that later he would tug on your elbow amid class, distracting you from studying just to ask you for it.

“You’re the best.” He sang, reaching over to playfully pinch your cheek. You glowered as you pushed his hand away, only making him chuckle.

“Did you prepare last night for your report later?” You asked, glancing at him only to see his sunken expression. He pulled onto the sleeves of his bright red sweatshirt, twiddling with the hem. “You  _ do _ know we’re reporting before today’s discussion… right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto let out a nervous laugh, the kind of laugh that you were unfortunately already familiar with. He added, “It’s just that volleyball training went a little over schedule yesterday so I pretty much passed out as soon as I got home.”

“How gross. I doubt you even showered then.”

“I did! This morning!”

You snickered, shuffling through your papers to fish out a page that was heavily annotated with notepads and messy scribbles along the edges. You slid it onto his desk as you said, “Study what’s written on there, some of it should help you out enough to get a decent grade.”

He pursed his lips, eyes blown out in a way that it usually would whenever you would go out of your way to help him out—which you wouldn’t always find to be a big deal. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his theatrics, putting out your hand for him to keep his distance before he could attack you into an unsolicited embrace.

You were a good student, always on top of your classes while Bokuto was admittedly on the opposite end of the spectrum. You knew he didn’t mean to be, he could be smart when he wanted to, but you figured external factors took up most of his attention rather his studies; volleyball being one of his main priorities as he had made sure numerous times that you were aware of.

Thinking about it, it was crazy just how much you got to know about him in the little amount of time you’ve spent together. He probably couldn’t say the same way towards you as while he was an open book, you were shut tight with little to no improvement as much as he prodded.

A hyperactive puppy that Bokuto could be compared to, always needed to be looked after and praised for every good deed that he does—he didn’t need to know the boring life of the person tending to him.

That’s why the conversations you shared with him were mostly restricted to class-related matters, although there would be times when you’d crack and vent to him about the annoying neighbor that you had; he would listen earnestly, always eager to know more about the life that you lead outside the four walls of the lecture hall.

“So you’re saying that art is inherently political whether made subconsciously or not?” He said, easily summarizing the contents of your paper just like that.

“Uh-huh.” You hummed, edging your chair closer to him to peer over, pointing your finger towards a particular line. His gaze followed. “Remember this bit the most. You might get drilled about it.”

He nodded, his hair flopping with every bounce and when it had hit you in the face, it made you notice how you were a tad bit close for comfort. You draw back your chair with an awkward cough.

“Water?” He offered as he leaned over to grab his bottle to which you graciously accepted, your throat suddenly scratchy. “You—”

Your professor called out your name, the sound of the microphone static cutting off what Bokuto had to say. You watched as the student who was in front made her way up the stairs, cheeks flushed as she had finally finished her presentation.

Your heart thumped against your chest, realizing you were too busy assisting Bokuto that you forgot to prepare for your own report.

With legs feeling like jelly, you stood up on your feet and gathered your ready-made flashcards. You were too preoccupied with your worries that you didn’t even hear Bokuto wishing you good luck. You walked down the velvet stairs and stepped onto the wooden platform where your professor was sitting in front of, perched with a timer in hand as he awaited you.

He ran through the general guidelines of the activity, what he would be basing your grade on and how points would be accumulated in the three minutes you would be presenting, but you were too frantic in organizing your thoughts to even process what he was saying.

A splash of bright red came into your line of sight, and your gaze drifted to where it was. You saw Bokuto squeezing himself in between two of your classmates who sat closest to the platform where you stood. His golden eyes met with yours and he grinned the biggest grin he could muster.

“ _ You got this! _ ” He mouthed, jutting his thumb in the air. You nodded in a haze, blinking at him like he was a deer in headlights.

“Then let’s start, shall we?” Your professor stated, clicking his timer and jolting you back to reality.

You presented your report with ease, seamlessly running through the points in your head like you had practiced the night before. In moments you find your gaze trailing over to where Bokuto sat, listening in on your report and nodding as if you were speaking to him directly. If this was his way of encouraging you and cheering you on, it was definitely helping.

The idiot that he was, he should’ve been preparing for his own report instead of focusing on you. You rolled your eyes in endearment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> help i want a bokuto of my own


	3. can’t handle it

Stifling a yawn, you watched Bokuto’s lame attempt at a magic trick. He placed down his deck of cards that he said he bought the night before, splitting them into unequal parts by your command while your professor’s voice faded in the background.

“This newfound hobby of yours doesn’t look like it’s working out for you.” You said nonchalantly, plucking out a card of what should’ve been an ace of hearts but revealed to be a seven of clubs instead. “I told you we should’ve just played Go Fish or something.”

“I just need a _little_ more practice!” Bokuto sulked, scratching his temple with his index finger. He let out a groan of frustration at the shake of your head, “This is much better than this boring class anyway.”

You shrugged your shoulders, your pride inabling you from completely agreeing with his sentiment. Normally you’d be against messing around with him during discussion proper, but there was something in the gloomy overcast of the weather that made it hard to pay attention to the ramblings of the man up front.

“It’s a lesson I’ve already studied.” You said, craning your neck for that satisfying pop in your bones. He made a displeased face at the sound.

“Why aren’t I surprised?” Bokuto said, piling together his cards to shove the deck back into its box.

You weren’t quite sure if he meant it positively or in a mocking manner; with Bokuto, it was always difficult to perceive the intention behind his words. You joked, “When I get awarded as the valedictorian, don’t expect that you’ll be included in my graduation speech.”

“Hey!” He pouted as he jabbed your side with his elbow a little too aggressively, making you choke in surprise. “Oops, sorry about that.”

“Geez, I bet you’d be good at playing American football.” You mumbled, rubbing the sore spot. He laughed fondly, his nose crinkling.

The sound of tapping against the microphone caught your attention, diverting your gaze towards the platform where your professor stood with his materials held close to his chest. You glanced towards the wall clock, confused that he was already packed up with an hour and a half left to spare until class was over.

“I’ll be leaving early today—” Your professor stated, ensuing murmurs echoing throughout the hollow lecture hall, intermingled voices resonating from different directions and making it near impossible to make out what the older man was saying. He coughed into the microphone, “As I was saying, use the remaining time to study for next week’s exams. Have a good rest of your day and class dismissed!”

Bokuto let out an obnoxious cheer, immediately rising to his feet. While he scampered to get ready much like the hundred other students rushing to leave the auditorium, you leisurely took your time for you had nothing planned after anyway.

“So where are you off to now?” Bokuto asked, hitching the strap of his backpack onto his shoulder. He bid his farewells to the other students who passed by your desks, waving his hand as if he was some hotshot—to which he probably was, you’ve heard plenty of people apparently having crushes on the gray-haired athlete.

“Library, probably.” You said, carefully organizing your materials and placing it all back into your bag while he leaned his back against the table.

“We have one of those?” He kidded.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it _._ ” You added.

He hummed in deep thought, stroking his chin animatedly. He then gleamed at you like nothing before, “Let’s go out for food instead!”

“No thanks.” You shook your head without missing another beat, pushing your chair against the flooring to heft yourself up from your seat. “See you next week, Bokuto.”

He frowned, reaching out to grab your wrist before you could leave. He insisted, “Come on, this will be our first time hanging out outside of class!”

“Aren’t you sick of my face?” A small smile flitted to your face. “You really want to spend another hour dicking around with me?”

“You say it as if it’s a bad thing.” Bokuto pouted, placing his free hand over his chest in mock pain. You let out a breathless giggle. He added, “It’ll be entirely on my wallet, don’t worry.”

“I have money of my own.”

“Then shouldn’t you treat me instead?” He asked, blinking his puppy eyes that you were never able to dismiss. You rolled your eyes, tugging away your arm that you’ve forgotten that was in his grasp.

“You are shameless beyond words, Bokuto Koutarou.” You said after a while of just gaping at him in utter amusement. You sighed helplessly, “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The grin on Bokuto’s face was blinding, punching the air with his fist as if you just told him the winning combination in the lottery. Most paid no mind, but some kept stealing glances at the pair of you, probably wondering just what you’d said that made him _this_ ecstatic.

You slapped his bicep, embarrassed at the attention he garnered. You pulled onto his backpack, dragging him down the stairs to where the exit was before he could make a bigger scene.

He led the way to a retro-themed diner behind campus, tucked away in a sketchy alleyway of smoking areas full of tired college students. However tiny and unsightly the street was, the place was still crowded with hungry customers.

Apparently, it was the only establishment near campus that served the closest semblance to homemade meals. Bokuto had to fight tooth and nail to be able to get a table at the busy hour of lunchtime, ignoring your pleas that a simple fast food chain would appease your appetite.

He insisted on ordering as soon as you sat down, claiming that he was starving from waiting in line for too long. You had no complaints, your mouth was starting to water over their heavily advertised plate of chicken and waffles anyway.

A waitress soon came up to your table, and her friendly manner of conversing with him made you assume that they were already familiar with each other; either because Bokuto frequented the diner or because she knew of him as the famous volleyball player, you honestly thought it would be the latter.

Your meals came sooner than you’d expected, even quicker than the booth beside yours who got seated before you. Perks of eating with a celebrity, you supposed. 

“Nice.” You offhandedly commented once the waitress had left, your thumb grazing against the neon ornaments of the booth. You lifted your gaze to meet his. “This place is really… nice. How’d you find it?”

You find it a bit odd, interacting with Bokuto outside of the lecture hall. Your discomfort and unease came in the forms of uncharacteristic timidness and self-doubt. Plain old you, some nobody, was eating out with _the_ Bokuto Koutarou, the wonder boy of Fukurodani Academy—who wouldn’t feel insecure?

In class, you wouldn’t care less of what others would think because for one, it wasn’t like you had another choice but to face him. This time it was different, you were casually hanging out with him as what others would perceive as _friends_.

Your social status would never be on par with Bokuto, someone who was well-known and highly regarded; a volleyball player superstar that appeared multiple times on sports magazines and _freaking_ national television!

You couldn’t help but inwardly scream a little bit, out of despair or mortification—you didn’t quite know.

He told you all about his discovery of the diner, how he accidentally stumbled into it one time after his volleyball training, but your refusal to make eye contact made him the littlest bit annoyed. You were just fine moments ago, but he noticed how quickly you were trying to finish your plate and how curt your replies were beginning to be. He snapped his fingers in front of your face, startling you to jump in your seat.

“You’re acting weird. What’s wrong?” He asked as blunt as he had always been.

“People are looking at us.” Your voice betrayed you, subconsciously coming out as a whisper to refrain others from listening in on your conversation.

Bokuto glanced over his shoulders, his eyes narrowed skeptically. He said, “Is that supposed to be some code that I’m not catching on about?”

“Bokuto, I don’t think we should be hanging out like this outside of class.” You mumbled, setting down your utensils to prepare yourself from his reaction. To your surprise, it never came.

He stared at you, a sharp eyebrow quirked. He was quiet, which bothered you more than you could’ve imagined as compared to his usual noisy blathering. You whistled under your breath at the sudden awkward that settled into the air.

“I mean, your social status would plummet if we do it again. Do you get what I’m saying? I just don’t think you’re aware of how famous you actually are, Bokuto, so you should be seen in public with other famous people or something, I don’t know? Shit, can you speak? You’re really worrying me.” You never ramble, but when you do, it’s a nervous mess of word vomit with flushed cheeks and fumbling fingers.

He laughed, “Alright, alright. Calm down.”

“Okay.” You heaved a sigh of relief, slouching in your seat. “So you understand where I’m going with this, right?”

“I guess…” He trailed off, shoving a large bite of his waffles into his mouth like you hadn’t just made a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“I don’t think you do.” You frowned dejectedly, picking up your fork to resume your meal.

“No, I really do! It’s just that I think it’s really stupid. With how you think, I mean.” He said, taking a napkin to haphazardly dab his lips with. He didn’t consider your crestfallen expression when he took a sip of his drink, clearing his throat. He continued, “I’m not some higher being that people worship. I don’t need to maintain a perfect image nor do I have to always be conscious of who I associate myself with to be respected in my field. I may be an athlete, but at the end of the day I’m still also just a college student.”

“Bokuto—”

“Let me finish.” He smiled, the crinkles in his eyes still very much apparent. “I can still fuck around, trust me, and I can choose my friends however I want to… and I like you.”

“Wait, what?” You asked abruptly, raising your hand to halt him from proceeding with his speech.

“Like as a friend! I like you, that's why you’re my friend!” He groaned, tugging onto the ends of his locks out of exasperation; the illusion of him being this cool, reliable guy shattering almost in an instant with his wrong choice of wording.

You chuckled, making him grin nonetheless. You said, “Okay. This doesn’t mean I’m paying for lunch. We’re still splitting.”

“Fine by me. Promise me you’re okay now?” He asked, propping up his elbow on the table to jut out his pinky finger like the child that he was. He awaited for your response, batting his eyelashes.

“Promise.” You eventually locked yours with his, smiling softly.

The hour passed sooner than you’ve noticed. With more people passing by to greet him, the less you were starting to care about who he was. He had a way with words, definitely; how easily he reassured you in his jumbled, unorganized spiel. You were his friend, he saw something in you that you didn’t know of, but he adored deeply. He made sure no insecurity and self-doubt had a place in your friendship.

Bokuto left earlier than you did, excusing himself that he had to meet with some of his old teammates from Fukurodani volleyball club as he ran out in a hurry; to which you assumed was because he missed them. You nodded apathetically, still indulging in your order of ice cream sundae when you realized that he ultimately left you alone to pay for the entire bill yourself.

You cursed him out the next time you saw him in class, pulling his ear to make him pay for your next meal.

(“ _That was all planned! To make us hang out again outside of class!” “As if!”_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :]


End file.
